


Operation: Destroy Ship

by Pasta and Sin (Pasta_and_Sin)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-28 08:17:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10827393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pasta_and_Sin/pseuds/Pasta%20and%20Sin
Summary: Basically, I'll burn, crash, and sink ships here with whatever I can think of.





	1. Mission #1

Mission: Germany x Italy

 

It wasn't the same anymore.

The way his name sounded on Ludwig's lips used to be like a prayer; soft, serene, and only meant for Feliciano's ears -- a worship. It used to sound like a poem; lyrical, mellow, and filled with emotion. It was preciously recited on his tongue. It used to sound like a piano; graceful and delicate. Those four syllables were played as a beautiful piece in the German's mouth-- _at least, it used to._

"Feliciano," He called out.

Now, it was just a mere command; It was strict, cold, and devoid of passion. The melodic chords that used to pluck the strings of his heart is now nothing but a bitter tone. It was sad.

It wasn't the same anymore.

The way Ludwig held him used to be like a candy; sometimes soft, sometimes hard, but always sweet -- like a child cherishing his delicacy, and it never failed to flutter Feliciano's senses. It used to feel like fire; warm and fiery. It burnt and yearned for the Italian. It used to feel like life; it kept Feliciano grounded, it gave him a purpose. It was a gap that he filled in to make the other feel whole -- _at least, it used to._

Ludwig reached out a hand and Feliciano took it. He caressed the German's hand, brushing it ever so lightly with his free hand. It was a gentle touch, almost longing for something that once sparked between them, almost longing for something that's long lost.

Now, it was like a storm; harsh, rough, and it was anything but pleasant. What used to make him feel like he belonged, now sent chills down his spine and broke him. It crushed him..

It wasn't the same anymore.

The way Ludwig looked at him used to be like a blessing; special, genuine, and it used to constantly remind Feliciano that there were wonderful things in life. It used to be like a fairytale; promising happy endings and everything nice. It was almost too good to be true. It used to be like a flower; tender and holding a meaning. Those intense blue orbs used to gaze at him as if he was the world; as if he was everything -- _at least, it used to._

Feliciano hanged his head low, eyes downcast. He can't seem to make himself look at the German in the eye because he knows he'll keep searching for something that's no longer in those sky-colored eyes.

Now, it was like a cavity; corrosive, painful, and it left a huge hole on Feliciano's heart. Slowly, it destroyed what those wonderful blue orbs held. It ended what was once between them.

_It wasn't the same anymore._

Still, Feliciano mustered a cherished yet bittersweet smile. It was love alloyed with pain, but it was an honest gesture. "Silly Ludwig..."

They sat beside each other, seemingly isolated from the rest of the world. When the Italian finally looked up, he saw that Ludwig's gaze was distant; aloof. As if he was anywhere but beside him. Feliciano's chest ached at the thought of that.

What happened to them? What happened to ' _us_ '?

Ludwig used to do everything for him. When his first pet cat died and he spent weeks moping, Ludwig was there for him. When he forgot about their anniversary, Ludwig didn't get mad, instead, he was the one who surprised Feliciano. When he'd leave a trail of mess, it was Ludwig who cleaned after him. It was always him. It's funny because the one who _ran out of love_ was Ludwig as well.

Feliciano knew that it was no use remembering that. It wouldn't change anything, it wouldn't turn back time, and it wouldn't return what was lost. He loved the German, he truly did, but it seems that he's the only one left loving, and the very same affection he gives the other is what's causing his unhappiness and Feliciano didn't want that. It feels as if he was the one trapping Ludwig; suffocating him while pretending there was still something between them. The Italian heaved a sigh, feeling constrained. They didn't have to pretend anymore, they didn't need to keep this act up, and neither did Ludwig need to make up reasons.

He softly squeezed the German's hand, snapping him out of his trance. "Hey, Ludwig."

"What is it, Feliciano?"

He doesn't want to make it difficult for the other so he just gave the German a smile laced with anguish and regret. His feelings, his worries, this relationship... This time, he would be the one to something about it. This time, he would be the one who'd do someting for Ludwig. Feliciano knew that it was about time he ended it.

So he did.

 

 


	2. Mission 2

At one point, we all had someone that we loved to play with. May it be a teddy bear, your pet cat, or a friend; We all had that special someone we can rely on and share our little secrets with and Alfred's was Arthur Kirkland.

"Mom, mom, mom!" Alfred scrambled down the stairs with nimble feet and raced to the kitchen, all giddy and excited. He skidded to a stop, making a quick swerve around the table, narrowly avoiding it. "Listen, I made a new friend!"

Alfred's mother stood by the sink, busying herself with chopping meat. She gave a brief side-glance at the young boy, acknowledging his presence. "Hmm? Who is it this time, hun?"

"Arthur, come here. Hurry!" He yelled to a certain someone who chose to stay outside the kitchen. The American eagerly beckoned him over with a hand, a smile pasted on his lips. "I wanna introduce you to my mom!"

Arthur hesitantly approached the two, uncertainty tightly wrapping around him. Unlike the lively American, he strolled in carefully, wary of the eyes that are now on him. His thick brows furrowed slightly at the cheery expression on Alfred's face but he chose not to comment on it or say anything since they were in front of his parent. Alfred, being the impatient kid he is, couldn't stand Arthur's painfully slow pace so he hastily grabs the other's arm and practically drags him into place.

"Mom, meet Arthur Kirkland." The American proudly presented Arthur, puffing his chest out. "He's British so he has a really cool accent but he's kinda mean, but I don't think he means that. He's fun to play with, but he uses weird words most of the time, but that's okay because Artie's my new best friend!"

"It's Ar-thur not Artie." The Briton snapped back almost instantly.

"That's what I said. Arthor."

"Stop murdering my name, git."

Alfred's brows knitted together in confusion. "Why would I murder your name? That sounds bad and... Illegal. Killing is bad and illegal."

His mother turned to face them, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She proceeds to place the butcher's knife on the counter, just right beside board, before carelessly wiping her hands on her stained apron. She then crouched a tad, unsure of where to face. "Well, hello there, Arthur. Nice to meet you."

Alfred threw his mom a puzzled look, almost making him scratch the back of his head. "Mom, he's over here." The young boy exaggeratedly gestured to where the Brit was, feeling slightly annoyed.

"Oh, sorry, dear." Alfred's mother clears her throat before recovering her composure, facing the other direction. She gave a shy smile at Arthur, saying, "Nice to meet you, Arthur."

The English nodded his head at her. "A pleasure to meet you as well, Mrs. Jones."

That was their typical first meeting and the day that officially marks their friendship. That was also the day that Arthur Kirkland was branded as Alfred's best friend.

* * *

"Arthuuuur, you can't drink tea while we're being attacked by robots. You'll be killed by their lasers!" The small American docked under the bed, pretending to shoot the imaginary robots that were invading his room. His cap laid discarded from the supposed 'battlefield' which was just really the hall outside his room. "They've successfully taken over the gate!"

"I do as I please, Alfred. Besides, you're covering for me, are you not?" He takes a long sip, savoring the tea and paying no heed to the obvious ruckus the other boy was causing. "If I joined the battle now, that wouldn't be exciting. I prefer the thrill of being in a pinch, if you must know."

Alfred, as a child that's no older than six, had a very wild and creative imagination and he was lucky to have Arthur who'd play along with even the most insane and ridiculous of his ideas. Arthur, on the other hand, enjoyed the company of the reckless American. He was willing to put up with it even if he had called Alfred's games as 'foolish' and 'mindless' countless of times.

"Ah! They're almost at our base!" Alfred yells, panicked.

Arthur placed his cup down, smirking. He tugged at his collar, unconcerned, and peered at Alfred over his shoulder. "Well, would you mind tossing me my weapon, partner?"

The American's eyes glinted with relief. He immediately took out another water gun and hurled it across the room to where the Englishman was. "Catch!"

Arthur caught the gun with ease and that was where the fun began. He shot down five enemies in less than two seconds, clearing the path for the American. Alfred rolled on his bed before landing on the ground with a loud thud. He then jumps over a chair, tripping over a few legos on the way, and heads toward the other, acting as if he was the best and most skilful agent in history. Arthur pointed his gun at the tiny battery-powered robot that finally marched in the room. In their eyes, the toy robot was a six-foot tall cyborg who crashed in the wall. It was accompanied by a mass of frenzied average robots that dangerously shot destructive lasers.

"We are requesting for back-up. I repeat, we are requesting for back-up, over." The Englishman held the pencil case to his mouth, pretending it was a walkie-talkie, before knocking over three small robots single-handedly with one shot. There was no response on the walkie-talkie, distressing Arthur. "Alfred, I believe that they meddled with the signal tower or took out the other team."

Alfred and threw a ping pong ball at the tiny green soldiers that acted as the mad robots. Gasping, he said, "We'll... We'll kick their metal butts then, with or without help. We'll be our own heroes!"

That was one of the most memorable days Arthur had spent with the American. Whenever he was with Alfred, he almost seemed to forget that sour and unpleasant events existed as well. It was like magic in real life - Alfred that is. It nearly made the British gentleman believe that robots, superheroes, monsters, and mermaids exist. It almost made him believe that he, as well, can exist - _live_ as long as it's in Alfred's world.

* * *

"What the bloody hell is going on?"

It was just supposed to be a normal day for Arthur. He was drinking tea at the balcony as usual, enjoying the fresh air and the peaceful atmosphere like a proper gent should. That is until Alfred barged in and dragged him out of the comforts of his little paradise.

Alfred, as a child that's no older than nine, was fond of surprising others and it became his hobby to throw Arthur off his feet. He would pop out at an unexpected time and Arthur was always the one forced to deal with him. Arthur didn't really have a choice nor can he avoid the consistent pestering of the other because for some reason, Alfred always knew where to find him. To Alfred, it seemed like an instinct for him to know the whereabouts of the Englishman.

The young American simply snickered as a reply and firmly gripped Arthur's hand, pulling him into what seemed like a living room. Or was it? Arthur didn't know because this brat wouldn't let him open his eyes. He was just blindly following after Alfred, patting nearby walls or whatever solid object he can touch so he can avoid tripping or bumping into vases or furnitures.

"Alfred!" He cried out, utterly confused. He abruptly stopped, withdrawing his hand from the young boy's. "Will you _please_ tell me what's going on?"

The American leant forward, an enthusiastic smile caressing his face and a pair of eager eyes twinkling with excitement, and of course, Arthur saw none of that. "You'll find out once we get there!"

"Get where?"

"There!" Alfred proceeded to take his hand again, and this time, he had an iron grip on it, not allowing Arthur to pull away. Once again, he 'guided' Arthur, occasionally skipping, mostly dragging the other. "No peeking, no peeking! Keep your eyes closed!"

The Englishman groaned in resignation, but he willed himself to keep his eyes closed nonetheless. "Do remind me why I'm doing this." He shook his head, feeling frustrated. When was he reduced to this? To actually be _bossed_ around by a child?

After 'accidentally' colliding with walls and stumbling on the steps of the staircase, Alfred finally allowed the British gent to open his eyes, and he let go of Arthur's hand, shouting, "SURPIRSE~!"

Arthur was stunned at the sight before him. Confetti-- No, roughly torn construction paper that acted as a confetti was scattered all over the floor. Two handmade sailor hats sat at the coffee table, centering the small lovely cupcake with a tiny inclined candle sticking out from the thick frosting. He raised a brow, dubious and at the same time overwhelmed, at the entire thing laid out in front of him. These two emotions clashed in him, swelling and, well, surprising him. What was the meaning of all of these? Is it going to be some sort of mess that he'd be cleaning up again? That's what he wanted to say but the words never escaped his lips because somehow, he knew this was different.

Alfred tugged at his sleeve softly, momentarily snapping him out of his daze. Arthur turned to face him and the American took his gloved hand, shoving a paper on it. "Happy Birthday, Artie!" The boy greeted, his enthusiasm not once faltering.

He stared at the paper on his hand, a finger tracing over a crudely drawn figure in crayon, and slowly, he diverted his gaze on a taller and awkwardly drawn person with caterpillars on his face. Seeing the weird floating tea at the side and an eagle at the other, he concluded that it might've been a drawing of both Alfred and himself. He paused, glancing back at the cupcake and back at Alfred. His heart stammered in his chest, a tad dejected and disappointed "It's not my birthday."

"Then, when is it?"

The Englishman froze, taken aback at the sudden thought. "I... I don't recall." He softly muttered, looking at his feet. He never really needed one and it didn't really bother him. Not until Alfred stared at him with eyes hoping for an answer. "I've never had one."

"Well... I already celebrated mine and they surprised me too! I never see yours so I thought we needed to make a surprise to be able to celebrate it, ya know. But since you don't have a birthday..." He expected the child to pity him, to insult him, but no. Alfred didn't. Instead, he ran to the coffee table, snatching the sailor hats before dashing back to Arthur, lending him a hat while wearing his own. "Then, let's make today your birthday! C'mon, blow the candle and make a wish."

That was one of the few moments that Arthur treasured. It made him realise that there were still wonderful things in life and Alfred was one of those and he should cherish those as long as he has them.

* * *

 

"What did they mean you're not real?" Alfred clutched the sheets of his bed, diffident and indignant. His thoughts were clouded with confusion and the nagging voices of his classmates that repetitively insisted that Arthur _isn't_ real before pointing a mocking finger at him, saying he's being childish for still believing at such things.

Arthur felt a pang in his chest, but he nonchalantly dismissed it. "Of course I'm real, you clot." He replied, straightening his vest, before placing a hand on his chest, gesturing to himself. "I'm here, aren't I?"

Alfred, as a child that's no older than twelve, was insecure and doubtful. He would often question himself if he's doing well, if what he's doing was right, and if whatever he does was good enough. He tends to question almost everything. He was lucky to have Arthur constantly remind him that he was great just the way he is, to ground him in the present, and to assure him. It may not keep away the inevitable events that blankets Alfred in uncertainty, but it's enough to bring a smile on the American's face.

Alfred uncomfortably shifted on his bed, nodding. He fumbled with his fingers, refusing to look at the Englishman in the eye. "Then what did they mean?"

"Rubbish, that's what!" Arthur scoffed, jerking his head away from Alfred's direction. From the corner of his eye, he can see that the American winced, his shoulders drooping. Not that Arthur was really good at comforting, but he tries. He sighed, "How the bloody hell should I know?"

But deep down, he knew. He has always known but for some reason, he chose to believe in the small lies he has told himself over the years. It made things much more easier, much more simpler, and much more _believable_. But, of course, that won't keep away the lingering thoughts that bother him in the dead of night, that won't keep away the dark feelings that continue to haunt him, and that won't keep away the _truth_.

When the American failed to reply, Arthur clasps his hands, abruptly standing up. "How about I read you a story tonight, hmm?"

Alfred finally looks up, his eyes no longer bright as it used to be but Arthur swore that he saw those eyes twinkle faintly; a flicker of delight. "But that's just for kids... I'm not a child anymore."

Before, whenever Arthur offered to read him a story, those ocean-colored eyes would immediately light up, excited. It sparkled with joy, genuinely looking forward to whatever story, magic, or tale he would be hearing that night and the Englishman would gladly tuck Alfred in bed, in preparation for the adventure they were about to take part in. That made Arthur feel that he was needed; that he had a purpose. And despite the American's replies, Arthur knew that Alfred needed him most right now.

"Nonsense!" The Englishman ambled towards the bookshelf, brushing his fingers along the covers of the book. "Storytelling has no age limits. Besides, it'll be just like old times." A familiar title catches his attention and he grabs that book, the one he always read to Alfred when he was much younger, before heading towards the bed. He carries Alfred and lays him down properly on the bed, tucking him in. Arthur sits at the edge of the bed, just by Alfred's side, and for a moment, his gaze softens and he ruffles the American's hair. "And... Yes, you aren't a child any longer. You're a _brat_ now."

Alfred slaps Arthur's hand away, the gloominess that filled him earlier now replaced with annoyance. "Hey!" The American clenched his hands into fists. "That was uncalled for!"

Arthur flicked the book at Alfred's head, teasing him further. "Lower your voice, your parents are asleep. Unless you want them to wake up and give you another spanking."

"That was one time! And I also told you not to watch!" The American fumed, flailing his hands.

"Ah, I can still remember it as if it was yesterday. You were standing ove--

"Arthur!"

"Shush, I'll begin now." Softly chuckling, the Englishman opens the book and he begins reading. Half-way through the story, he realises that Alfred was already snoring and well, drooling. He hopelessly shakes his head, closing the book and setting it aside to be read for another day. He uses the blanket to wipe away the drool and smiles. Leaning down, he kisses Alfred's forehead, whispering, "Night-night, my dearest."

That was when Arthur realised that he couldn't protect Alfred all the time and that things were always changing - that Alfred was changing as well. But there were little things that remained the same and that was what Arthur held dearly.

* * *

 

Arthur heard the door slam open which was followed after by thumping sounds; a sign that usually meant that the American was home. He glanced up from a novel he was reading, saying, "Welcome home, chap."

Alfred didn't reply, nor did he acknowledge the presence of the Englishman. He just threw his bag at the couch, hastily climbed up the stairs before storming into his room.

Alfred, as a teenager that's no older than fourteen, often had unpredictable bouts of anger or sadness. One moment, he would have an emotional breakdown, and he would be laughing his arse off in the next. It became a normal thing and Arthur eventually got used to it. Although, the Englishman also noticed the sudden distance that Alfred placed between them. He no longer relied on Arthur like he usually did but the Englishman just brushed it off, thinking that it might just be a phase he's going through.

"Alfred, at least eat something before you lock yourself up in your room. I believe your mom prepared a sandwich in the kitchen." Arthur yelled, but still, there was no response. He doesn't know whether the American was simply playing deaf or if he actually didn't hear him. "Don't make me drag you out here to eat."

Silence.

Curiousity prompted Arthur to check on Alfred so he gently placed the book down and headed to the American's room. He knocked twice before calling out again. "Alfred?" He twisted the doorknob to find out it was locked. He shook it once more, with the intent to open it. "Alfred, you bloody twit, say something when someone is calling you. I never taught you to be rude."

Suddenly, the door swung open and Alfred's vexed face peered from behind it. "What?!" He was greeted by open air. He glanced around and he saw nothing. That confused him, causing him to furrow his eyebrows. Sure enough, he heard a muffled sound at the other side of the door or did he?

"Alfred."

Alfred jolted at the voice and suddenly, Arthur was right in front of him. His contorted face softened at the sight of the Englishman and he opened his door wider. He relaxed his previously stiff posture, leaning at the door frame. "Oh, it's just you, Artie. 'Sup?"

Arthur massaged his temple in frustration. "Didn't you hear what I just said?"

"Nope." Alfred shrugged, popping the 'p'.

"For crying out loud, clean your ears and don't make me repeat the same thing twice!" Arthur groaned, exasperated. "I said you should at least eat something before locking yourself up."

"Geez, you're such a worrywart. Don't worry, Arthur. I'll eat later." Alfred waved a hand, dismissing the Englishman. He turned his back to enter his room but was stopped.

"Don't misunderstand, I'm not doing any of this for your sake. Remember, if you feel unwell, so will I." Arthur countered, crossing his arms and lightly tapping his foot. "That's all there is to it."

Alfred gave him a long stare, as if he didn't really care at all or as if he didn't have time for this. "M'kay, I got that." Once again, he turned his back, shutting the door close.

Arthur's hands dropped to his sides, disappointed. He was hit by this sudden pang and a small voice at the back of his head unearthed unwanted thoughts, the ones he's been desperately trying to avoid but it was no use. _Lost, discarded... That's what you'll be soon_ , they seem to say. Whatever was happening was quite obvious. The expression on his face twisted in pain and softly, he muttered, "You weren't supposed to agree, you git."

Before, Alfred would argue and tease Arthur back saying, 'Really now?'. It was some sort of unspoken thing between them, a silent tradition they both stuck to. Even though Arthur always denied it, he actually preferred and always looked forward to the American teasing him back and trying to solve the underlying meaning behind his words. But it seems that things really have changed. It seems that things will never be the same as they were before.

That was the time Arthur realised that he was afraid. Afraid that whatever they both had would be lost over the years, afraid that he might lose Alfred one day, and he's afraid that someday, he will be forgotten. No, actually, that was the time that Arthur acknowledged his fears. He knew them right from the moment he met Alfred.

* * *

Arthur hunched over a dark corner near the window. The moonlight seeped through the small opening in the curtain and he watched as it weaved through his faded hands. The dim light glazed the translucent figure of his hand, almost making it look like it was illuminating. It's been a few weeks that his hands have been like that and as the days pass, it seems to _dissolve_ more and more. It was almost as if he was slowly being erased from this world. Arthur wore his gloves and held his hand close to his chest, a distant pain tugging at his heart. It can't be like that, right? He isn't actually... _Disappearing_ , right? It must be because Alfred hasn't been talking to him after they fought. He just needs to fix their relationship again... But now that he thought of it, how long has it been since they last talked? Days, weeks, months, or years? It's been so long... Arthur can no longer remember.

Arthur sighs deeply. _It's no use_ , he seemed to think. He has long accepted his fate, his future, and the fact that he would and will disappear. He was foolish enough to delude himself of these thoughts, foolish enough to cherish Alfred as if he was his own, watch him grow up to be the person he is now, and to... believe in him. Yes, it _is_ foolish, but for some reason, the Englishman never considered it as a mistake-- trusting Alfred, learning to love him, and above all, meeting him, was no mistake.

Alfred, as a teenager that's no older than eighteen, learnt to be fine one his own and mostly preferred to be outside of the house if he wasn't locking himself up in his room. By this time, he acted as if Arthur never existed and was mostly busied by deadlines and tests. Arthur, most of the time, pretended that everything was alright, that everything was normal even if he knew it wasn't. The discomfort they felt from ignoring each other soon turned into a habit and that made things worse between them.

Arthur diverted his gaze from his hands to the living room before him. A soft smile made its way to his lips as he reminisced about little things they both had done here. This was the same place where they had one of their adventures, the same place where they celebrated his birthday, the same place where they... fought.

_"You'll never understand, Artie."_

_"Oh, I clearly do."_

_"Shut up!"_

_"No, you shut that bloody trap up and stop acting immature, Alfred! You're no longer five years old. You should know better than to-- I am not yet done talking!"_

_"Well guess what, Artie, I am. I am done listening to this shit and I thought you were on my side, I thought you were my best friend. Y'know what? I hate you, Arthur. I can't believe I trusted you."_

The Englishman cringed at the memory. It's been so long but the damage it has done never left him. He could still hear the vase breaking, still feel the anger in Alfred's voice, see the door slamming shut, and he could still feel the suffocation from the deafening silence that followed after. It was still slowly killing him inside.

While Arthur was slowly pushing himself up, there was a loud thud from upstairs which was followed by a crash and a prolonged wail. In less than a second, the Englishman was on his feet and he found himself running up the stairs, heading to _that_ place.

"Alfred!"

He made heavy footsteps along the floor of the hall as he dashed in a frenzied state. He couldn't think straight and all the rationality he previously had had dispersed into thin air and was immediately replaced with panic. His breaths barely caught up with him but that didn't stop him. Arthur's heart pounded in his chest as he swung the door open only to see that the keyboard was dangling on the American's desk and Alfred was on the floor, holding the back of his head as he muttered a few more curses under his breath which was cut off as soon as he noticed that the door opened.

For a full minute, Alfred looked up and down at the door with confounded blue eyes and Arthur awkwardly looked down on the American which was still sprawled on the floor. There was suddenly a heavy tension surrounding them and it was starting to get extremely uncomfortable.

"H-Holy Shit!" Alfred paled beyond comparison and he went stiff in an instant after failing to scramble backwards. What was he trying to do now? There are times when Alfred is just so difficult to comprehend even for Arthur and one of those times is now. "The door just... It can't be right? I'm sure it was just the wind. The really... really awfully strong wind or maybe I just forgot to close the door."

The American forced himself up and pulled his chair back to the desk, and Arthur isn't sure, but was he trembling? His reaction didn't quite _click_ and for a moment, Arthur hesitated to reply but his suspicions were brushed away as anger took over him. His chest felt tight, and his light-headedness didn't help at all but still, he boiled with rage.

"Talk about rude!" Arthur marched in, scowling. "We haven't talked in ages and that's the first thing you say?"

Alfred walked towards Arthur, a nervous smile making its way to his lips. "I shouldn't be scared of this! That's just lame and... and..." He miserably gulps. "ghosts aren't real!" Even though his body looks like it was moving forward, Arthur can mostly sense that the American's body was begging to turn around instead.

Arthur clenched his fists. He has had enough. Ignoring him is one thing but pretending he's invisible when he was just practically just a ruler away from him? Really? Was Alfred that desperate to avoid a confrontation with him? This was pathetic! This was out of hand! This was... too much for Arthur. How can Alfred not realise that? How can he just turn a blind eye to it? Sure, he had his fair share of pain and such, but to act coldly to this extent? Arthur missed Alfred, badly, but this... It's just unbearable because despite all of this, he is... _was_ the American's best friend and he isn't some kind of emotionless and apathetic nitwit that couldn't care less if the world ended. He's Arthur Kirkland and Alfred is someone that matters to him.

The Englishman bit his lip, trying to hold himself together. He thought he was prepared for this, he thought that he could handle it, but now that it's happening, he realised that he actually thought wrong. His hands itched to do something: to grab Alfred by the collar, to punch him square in the face. In the end, his emotions got the best of him and he pulled his hand back to land a slap on the Alfred's cheek.

"Alfred, you dumba--"

He swung his right hand with all his might while keeping his left hand in a tight fist. He expected it to hurt, to leave a mark but what he didn't expect was his hand going through the American's face. His now stark faded hand going _through_ Alfred.

"W-what in the name of...?" Arthur staggered back, looking at his hands in disbelief before sliding his eyes back to the unfazed Alfred that didn't seem to notice a thing. "Alfred, what's..." He looked up at the American's eyes, helplessly searching for... for something-- for a sign! But no, instead, Alfred nonchalantly walked right through him, as if he wasn't there to begin with.

Well that explains it. All those times he tried to start a conversation with the boy, all those times Alfred just walked past him... It was because he can no longer be seen or felt by the American. It was because he ceased existing in Alfred's world.

"Heh, I should remember to lock the door next time." Alfred proceeded to shut the door close, locking it and Arthur's eyes followed Alfred as he strolled back to his computer.

The Englishman glanced down at his feet and not-so surprisingly, it was gone. Arthur froze in place, allowing himself to be drowned in his thoughts. This is it. It's finally happening. The dreadful thoughts he's been trying to shove down, the nightmare that has been continuously haunting him, and the truth he refused to believe is finally unraveling right before his eyes and he's finally... _disappearing_. He raised his hand right in front of him, taking his glove off and as expected, he can barely see his hand anymore. It's happening so fast that's it's terrifying but Arthur wasn't scared. He knew he was deteriorating and that nothing can be done to stop it. But he has also long accepted this fate and he has already readied himself for _this_. It's about damn time it happened. He closed his eyes as he took a deep breath.

From the moment they first met, he knew that one day, it would lead to this. But why exactly did he allow himself to be by this boy's side as he grew? Why did he partake in all those silly adventures? Why did he continue reading him stories at night when he knew that it would end like this?

"Because I knew... I knew it was going to be worth it and that's what matters. Isn't that right, Alfred?" He eyed his nearly non-existent palm and wiggled his fingers, anticipating something to happen. Perhaps, a miracle, or something impossible, but of course, his hand-- his entire existence, continued to decline and the whole world continued to spin. Arthur smiled bitterly before walking towards him. Of course, it felt awful. His guilt was violently clawing him inside his chest and he still has a few regrets but it seems that there can be nothing to be done about it. As much as he hates to leave Alfred, he just had to. He knows that the boy can handle himself fine without him and that was enough. He just wished that he had a little more time. Arthur stops behind the sitting figure of the American. He, then, sucks in a long breath, tucking away the last of his sentiments, before leaning down to Alfred's ear, whispering, "Night-night, my dearest."

* * *

A gust of wind blew by Alfred, sending chills down his spine but it was accompanied by some sort of familar warmth that brushed against his skin, causing him to feel somewhat secure. Was the heat playing tricks on him or was sleep deprivation finally catching up to him?

"Boy, 'gotta finish this up soon or I'll start seeing things." The American cracked his knuckles, preparing to type away before hearing a loud thud coming from behind him. He jerked his head to the direction of the sound. "Huh?"

He stood up, searching his room for where the sound could've come from and there it was-- a book. He headed towards the small bookshelf and on the floor sat a very familiar object. It was an old storybook that was somehow knocked off from the bookshelf. He squinted his eyes at the cover before crouching down to reach for it and his eyes immediately lit up in recognition.

"Woah, what's this little guy doing here? I thought I lost this." He grabbed the book, excited to see something from his childhood. But as he lifted the book in mid air, a paper fell out from one of its pages. "Hmm?"

He laid the book aside to pick up the folded paper. It looked old and worn out but it was well kempt. Was it something he wrote from before? Is it one of those treasure maps he drew? Curious, he opened the paper and he saw a very crappy drawing inside of it. The first thing that caught his eye was the drawing of some sort of fancy dude with noticeably huge eyebrows which was followed by a poorly drawn figure beside it. It also had an eagle that obnoxiously took up one-third of the paper and a levitating cup with a label 'tea' doodled around. That was weird. He can tell that the smaller figure was him but who was the other guy? This drawing was painfully familiar but all he has was a faint memory of it and that bugged him. He fiddled with the paper and flipped it around, looking for a clue. He found something written behind the paper. Well, it wasn't just written, but it was in calligraphy. Damn, did he actually have a god-like penmanship as a kid? As far as he remember, he couldn't even write the cursive of F well. So... Who would've written that? Funny, because it feels as if he has forgotten something very important. The message read:

_You've finally grown up, you insufferable git._   
_-Your best friend_

He paused for a very long time, dumbstruck. _Git, best friend._ His hand slightly shook and he stared at the paper in disbelief as he muttered something he can't believe he has almost forgotten, "Ar...tie?"

* * *

 

A/N: Whoops! Another ship went down. Personally, I don't like the ending. It feels as if something is missing. Is it Arthur?

 

*slapped*

 

Anyway, I sincerely hope you enjoyed the thing *coughs* even if a _dissolved_ relationship isn't something to be enjoyed. *coughs* Okay, I should really stop hinting.

 

Please **review**. I'll accept whatever's thrown at me-- verbally if you don't mind.

 

 


	3. Mission 3

Mission: Lovino x Arthur

* * *

 Dear Diary,

            This little shit right here just followed me home from the parking lot and wouldn’t leave. There were also a couple times where he sat on my lap while I was chilling at the porch. I don’t like it but I don’t hate it either so I decided to keep him. Well, this _is_ how you get a cat, right?

Well, it’s been a week since then – since I’ve gotten myself a cat – _an asshole of a cat_ – that goes by the godforsaken name Arthur. Who on earth calls their cat _Arthur_? I’d go for Macaroni or even Sky but _Arthur_? Jesus Christ, that’s just stupid. I regret having my fratellino name the bastard. Y’know what? Screw that, I’m going to call him Macaroni.

            Hah, imagine it: me calling a cat Arthur. That’s just ridiculous, but I guess it’s not as ridiculous as Americans butchering Spanish. Flamingo? A Juice? Moochy Grassy Ass? _God forbid if they do the same to my language._

Edit: Okay, I tried calling him Macaroni for 30 minutes. The fucker won’t respond unless I call him _Arthur._ I pretty much confirmed that my cat is indeed an asshole and he shits me not. It’s going to be a long day.

* * *

 “Goddamit, Arthur!” Lovino violently reacted at the sight that greeted him.

The pitcher on the desk was knocked down, its contents spilled over the essay he was working on. Worse, there were numerous orange paw prints all over the sofa leading to one suspect: a cat innocently sitting atop the arm of the sofa, licking its orange juice-coated paws. The feline simply looked up, meowed nonchalantly at the Italian before hopping off.

Lovino immediately went over to get his now-floppy papers, waving it around to see if he could still salvage a page, and scrunched his nose in disgust. The ink was wearing off, slowly blurring the words on his essay.

“Five minutes. For fuck’s sake, I just went to the bathroom for five minutes and you give me _this_?” Lovino slapped his soaked work back on the desk, completely frustrated.

Arthur strolled all the way to the small table and jumped on it gracefully, nearly knocking down a glass on his way up the platform. He merely gave it a glance and instead of showing shame, he meowed back as if he was saying, _What did you expect me to do? Finish your essay for you? I’m a cat._

For some ungodly reason, the feline decided to saunter back a few paces closer to the fragile glass. Lovino’s eyes widened. The Italian could already see where this was going and he wouldn’t take any more shit from Arthur.

“No,” Lovino warned. “don’t you fucking da—“

 Still, the cat ignored him and carried on with stretching his hind legs, kicking the glass off. The glass shattered when it came in contact with the tiled floor and that was enough to unleash the hell that Lovino had been struggling to suppress. His eyes reflected rage, his fists shook from being clenched too hard, and his lips slightly twitched.

“That’s it. You’re gonna get it this time.”

The Italian stomped his way to the cat and in response, Arthur scrambled for his dear life. Then, the chase began. Arthur ran to the kitchen as fast as his feet can manage with a furious Lovino trailing after him. He jumped on the counter, turning left hard, and a shoe came flying towards him. He swivelled to the opposite direction, nearly crashing into the sauce pan, but it seems that no matter what he did, he couldn’t shake the seething Italian off. In a fit of panic, he races to the curtains, leaping and eventually clawing the drapes as if his life depended on it. Maybe that’s because _it did._ The door opens, revealing Feliciano, and the cat makes a mad dash toward him before hiding behind said person’s legs.

“Fratello!” Feliciano cheerfully greeted Lovino with arms wide open, ready to glomp his brother who only pushed his face away with a hand.

“Dammit, get out of the way, Feli.” Lovino didn’t wait for his brother’s response and sidesteps. To his dismay, Feliciano reacts equally fast and with nimble feet, he blocks the older Italian’s way. Lovino glares at him distastefully. “You’re lucky I don’t strangle you and shave all that fur off of you, you basta— Feli, Move it!”

“No, I won’t. You can’t strangle Artie and shave his fur off! That’s cruel!”

Lovino tried to shove his brother aside but the other Italian stood his ground and held both his arms out defensively for the cat. Arthur eyed Lovino mockingly with his sly green eyes before turning his head to Feliciano and cried out, as if complaining.

“I’m not actually gonna do that,” Lovino pauses, taking in a sharp breath. “I’m going to fucking drown him and hang him upside down for ruining my essay!”

“Brother, please. It’s just an essay!”

Arthur rubbed himself on Feli’s leg, purring, asking for sympathy from the Italian’s little brother and looking at Lovino as if he was insulting him further at the same time.

_You call that an essay?_

Feli’s heart melted at the cat’s actions and he grabbed Arthur, cradling him in front of Lovino. Once again, Arthur purred in response. “Can’t you see? He’s already sorry, fratello. You don’t have to go too far, y’know?”

“That was a five-page essay due tomorrow, dammit! And sorry? _Sorry?_ I’ll smack that sorryass face off of that cat if he doesn’t stop purring,” Lovino scoffed. He eyed the feline maliciously, then, drifted his eyes toward his brother, who looked back at him stupidly. _Silence._ Apparently, his brother didn’t know how to reply to that, but still, his brother looked at him with pleading eyes— looked at him like a moron. Lovino sighed. He waved Feliciano off with a hand, dismissing him. “Just… just get that _bastardo_ out of my face before I do it myself.”

“Sì! Grazie mille, brother!”

“Tsk.”

Giddy and feeling accomplished, Feliciano skipped into of the kitchen with little Artie in his arms, safe from danger- particularly, safe from Lovino.

Lovino resumed to working heatedly on his essay, his hands gliding on the paper as if it was air. He no longer cared if his penmanship was legible or not. He was set on finishing his work before he loses more of his sleep. Besides, what mattered was the content, right? Screw neatness and aesthetic handwriting. His penmanship could look like an alien invasion for all he cares as long as he just has a damn thing to pass tomorrow.

Soon, his fingers were already sore and his eyes felt dry from working. How much time has passed? Lovino no longer remembers. He drops the pen on top of his paper, stretches his arms and straightens his back. 3 cups of coffee and a bunch of crumpled papers already decorated his desk but it didn’t seem enough seeing that he was barely done with the fourth page. He stared at his work as if words would magically appear and finish his essay for him, stifling a yawn.

Lovino felt something rub past his leg and it was followed after by a sudden weight on his lap. He glanced down only to see the one and only fatass cat, Arthur, making himself comfy. A part of him wanted to smack the feline and kick him out of the room but the other part feels rather reassured and soothed by Arthur’s presence. The said cat rubbed his head affectionately at Lovino’s tummy and meowed as if he was apologizing. The Italian shook his head, feeling ridiculous.

He raised a brow at the feline. “What do you want?”

Arthur didn’t meow back. He simply continued cuddling and purring. Lovino stared at him indifferently, as if the action didn’t affect him at all. Unlike his brother, he wouldn’t swoon over the cat and forgive him _that_ easily. Oh no. He was going to resist it; to fight back the urge. He looked away from Arthur and crossed his arms.

“Hah, I ain’t falling for that. No, not this time.“  The Italian found himself stealing a glance at the feline who suddenly decided to widen his usually narrowed eyes and purr bewitchingly. “Well, shit.” Lovino sighed, petting Arthur and the said cat mewed contently. The Italian rolled his eyes at Arthur obnoxiously. “Don’t push your luck.”

* * *

 Dear Diary,

            Arthur’s more of a dick rather than a pussy and that’s pissing me off. Are all cats like this? Sweet mother of July, he’s wrecked more furniture and pillows than the quizzes I’ve wrecked back in high school. And guess what: It’s only been six months. _Six damn months_ and I’ve already been forced to renovate the place with my savings.

            As much as I hate to say it, there _are_ some perks of having Arthur. I don’t get to be alone in this cramped apartment when Feli doesn’t come home. Surprisingly, whenever he destroys a project or written work of mine, the thing I redid was better than the last. Also, it may not seem obvious, but he can be an adorable fuck if he wants. Now the real question is: _Is his companionship worth the damage he’s done?_

            Which reminds me: Other than his attitude, his… What’s that called? Unique? Fancy? _Glorious_? Well, the thing is, he has blocks for his damn eyebrows and that’s bugging me. He’d look sassy enough without even having to raise one of the caterpillars on his face. Arthur’s playing an intense eyebrow game if you ask me.

* * *

 Lovino mindlessly opened his locker to shove a couple books in and to get the notes for his afternoon lectures. His fingers linger on a particular sketchbook aged with time. He smiles at the thought of going through the content of the thing but he was interrupted as a figure leans at a nearby locker, peering into his own. He immediately slams his locker close and thrusts the notes into his duffel bag, the previously fond smile turning into his signature scowl.

“What?” He snaps, turning his head to the left to take a good look at the intruder who turned out to be a fairly good looking chick. His frown melts into a pleasant smile once more and he shoves a hand into his pocket. “Woah, what’s a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?” He gives the lady a charming wink before leaning on the locker.

The girl unconsciously fiddles the edge of her nail with her thumb. “Lovino Vargas, right? I’m Bella Laurens. We’re sort of classmates in Creative Writing.”

“Yeah? I’ve seen you around. I mean, who could miss a face like yours?” Lovino flashes her a quick grin. Honestly, he has no idea who this chick is but nothing a smooth comment can’t fix, right? Lovino has practically mastered the art of flirting and slipping through small blunders with either his charm or his typical peevish demeanour.

Laura giggles. “So Lovino, there’s this party at my house tomorrow night.” The woman squeezed the strap of her purse and slowly bit her lip, hoping to attract the Italian’s attention. “I was hoping if you could come.”

Lovino paused, as if considering the maiden’s offer. But deep inside, he was brainstorming for an excuse to decline. Sure, he liked a pretty girl who has a sweet smile and a cute laugh but which guy doesn’t? Lovino may be a professional in sweeping a girl off her feet and taking her breath away but he sure as hell wasn’t one to party. In fact, he despised parties. That’s where idiots flock and let’s just that he’s already had a load of those from his part-time job as a bartender.

“I promised a friend that I’d help with his project.” _Yeah, right._

Disgruntled, Bella pouted but instantly masked it with a small simper. “Oh… Who?”

The Italian tensed. Yeah, who exactly? He’s not known to have any friends – at least, not real friends. He’d glare at anyone who got 2 feet close to him and he has probably cursed his potential friends away. _Nice going, asswipe,_ Lovino mentally scolded himself. Antonio? Nope, he’s an idiot. Feliciano? That’s his brother. His stupid brother. Ludwig? Hah, there’s no way in hell that he’d consider the potato bastard a friend. Suddenly, an idea popped in his head. A very ridiculous idea, but it’s an idea nonetheless and he was going to use it.

“Arthur. Yeah, him. He’s not even halfway done with his work.” Lovino offered her an apologetic look. “Sorry.”

“That’s too bad. Maybe next time?”

The Italian smirked to himself, replying, “We’ll see. Ciao, Bella.

Bella blushed before skipping off to wherever she came from, her shoulder length hair bouncing as she goes. Lovino sighed in relief. Who would’ve thought that his asshole of a cat would actually be useful? For once, he’s actually thankful that his cat was named Arthur.

Lovino glanced at his watch and it was 13:47. Well, his next class was at around 14:15 so he still has a lot of time to slack off and probably nap in the clinic. That is, until he remembered he had a meeting for the Journalism and Photography Guild regarding the upcoming activities in his university. He was an officer, for crying out loud.

“Shit!” The Italian made a mad dash towards his destination, cursing as he goes. Why he decided to be an officer, he’ll never know. Why the students voted for him to be an officer is another mystery.

* * *

  Worn out, Lovino dropped his bag by the doorway along with the groceries. To his surprise, the little shit sauntered towards him. The feline affectionately rubbed himself on the leg of the Italian as if greeting, _Welcome home…_

“Yeah, yeah. I missed ya too, you bastard.” A small smile formed at the corner of his lips.

He thought Arthur would be more enthusiastic in seeing him after being gone for nearly two days due to his club activities and part time job but apparently, this is the most _enthusiastic_ he can get from the feline. Usually, Arthur would just lazily glance at Lovino from the couch and go back to sleep. Sometimes, Arthur would make a gagging sound or he would cough.

Lovino threw his bag on the couch and removed his jacket as the warmth finally started to settle. After placing his grocery bags on the counter and performing mise en place, he began working his magic.

In one hand, Lovino held the pan and with a gentle flick of his wrist on the other, he coated the pan with olive oil. He smiled to himself, humming a tune as he threw the garlic in, which was soon followed after by small pieces of chicken seasoned with salt and pepper. The familiar scent wafted in the air and somehow, the Italian felt as if he was indeed at home.

 He began to tap his foot to set the rhythm of a song he knew too well and despite the crease in between his brows, he cleared his throat in full concentration.

“ _Ti amo, throw a coin_ ,” He began as he tossed a couple of chopped and blended roasted pepper in the pan along with the heavy cream. “ _Ti amo, in the air_. _Ti amo, heads up it means that it’s over; we’re leaving each other.”_

_Excuse me?_

Arthur, who sat at a nearby chair by the counter, stopped licking his paws and tilted his head in confusion. Lovino sounded so expressive that Little Shit here thought he has probably gone mad from all the lessons crammed in his head. He couldn’t understand a single word that the Italian was muttering.

“What are you looking at, you bastard?” Lovino muttered while stirring the sauce, suddenly aware of the cat’s trailing eyes. If he wasn’t used by Arthur’s presence, he would’ve burned his cheeks a while back but now, he’s more conscious than embarrassed.

Arthur meowed back, as if saying, _What else?_

“Fine, fine. I’ll sing in English, dammit.” The Italian scoffed in feigned displeasure. Actually, he’s having fun because he hasn’t enjoyed himself like this in such a long time.

_You were singing? What a surprise…_

Lovino weaved through the kitchen as if he was romantically slow dancing all the while preparing his supposed dinner. “ _Ti amo_ , heads up it means that it’s over; we’re leaving each other.

“Ti amo, I’m a man  
Ti amo, and I love you  
Ti amo, there is no cold in my heart  
Just the fire you started.”

The Italian’s smooth words danced around Arthur’s ears and the cat thought he had never heard a sound so… _beautiful._ It’s hard to believe that the soothing voice comes from the same mouth that cursed like a sailor and said harsh words that he probably didn’t mean.

Lovino hummed through some parts of the song, occasionally singing some parts in his mother tongue and others in English. Mostly, because he forgot the lyrics, but Feliciano emerged from his room and crept into the kitchen, continuing the melody. “Love is a question – a butterfly changing its shape.”

He whipped his head around, alarmed by his brother’s voice. Feliciano offered him a sheepish smile for disrupting the older Italian’s concentration. Lovino cracked a small smile at the other and Feliciano took Artie in his arms and began dancing around. Both of them began singing in harmony, one cooking, the other is practically a dancing bystander, and the feline caught between their idiocy.

The soft words of the song effortlessly tumbles out of their lips and blends together. It was almost as if they were spilling out their emotions instead of the lyrics and Arthur mewed helplessly in Feliciano’s arms.

“And I need you as I need the sun  
You are forever the one  
So I return in my sorrow  
Will you give me your tomorrow?

Ti amo, how could I hurt you so?  
Now I am here again  
Open the door to a man who is hollow with pain.

And forgive me and fill me with wine  
Put me to be like a child  
Wrap me in sheets of white linen  
Let me dream of – the beginning”

The sauce starts to thicken and the Italian drains the water from the fettuccine. Slowly, he lowers the said pasta into the sauce and sprinkles the parsley on top. He gracefully mixes everything into perfection before serving the dish on two plates. Lovino smirks at his work in satisfaction while Arthur found himself longing for the Italians to finish the song.

That night, as Lovino lay in bed with Arthur by his feet, he found himself _truly_ appreciating the presence of the sadistic furball. His life couldn’t get better than this, right? His grades are good, the future looks promising even with his idiotic brother and this furry asshole in the picture, and everything just seems to be going well.

“Hey Arthur,” Lovino pushes himself up in a sitting position. “you know, I never really got to thank—“

Arthur’s ears perked up at hearing the voice of his owner but the Italian wasn’t distracted by that. No, it was the goddamn eyebrows of his that prevented the Italian from continuing. I mean, who could take this cat seriously if he looks at you with those soulless eyes paired with _magnificent_ eyebrows?

Lovino scrunched up his nose in feigned annoyance at the sight of the cat. It was mostly hilarious than annoying.

“Let’s shave your eyebrows, dammit. You probably look better without those anyway.” The Italian snickered and Arthur, on the other hand, scratched Lovino’s foot after being insulted. Lovino nearly kicked Arthur who bared his feline fangs. “ _Ack! You little shit!_ ”

Yes, he was a cat and he wasn’t just going to be mocked freely. But that also doesn’t mean Lovino would sit still and allow this sick feline claw him as well.

The Italian mercilessly hurled a pillow at Arthur and the cat was knocked off the bed. Arthur hissed violently in response.

“This means war, you bastard.”

Before any of them could engage in real action, Arthur coughed and hacked incessantly. The feline pawed his nose over and over again as if in pain, causing Lovino to hop out of bed and immediately tend to Arthur.

Lovino, who never really had any real experience in handling an animal, panicked. “Oi, w-what’s wrong? Are you alright? ”

The cat continued coughing and Lovino tried to help ease the pain by stroking Arthur’s back as gentle as he could. The relentless coughing eventually stopped but the dread it caused never left the Italian.

* * *

 Dear Diary,

            I’ve noticed that Arthur’s coughs and sneezes have gotten a lot worse lately. By worse, I mean he’s literally sneezing blood and I can’t fucking do anything about it. It’s frustrating. Feli said that maybe there was some wound in his nose and it sounded exactly like what my brother would say; stupid. I knew better than that but I believed him anyway. It was… well, _what could I do?_  

Last night, it happened again. The floor was a bloody mess. I couldn’t stop the bleeding. I couldn’t ease the pain. I just fucking sat there all night, pleading Arthur to stop and repeatedly asking if what was wrong. I clearly knew what was happening but I just held on the possibility _that there was just a wound in his nose_. Heck, I prayed to God but no matter how much I cried, no matter how much I begged the sneezing just wouldn’t stop. I feel pathetic. I feel… _horrible._ Things have finally taken a turn for the better ever since that asshole came into our life. It can’t just swerve around the corner and crash into a brick wall. It can’t just… Tsk!

 And another thing: the money I saved up was used to repair furniture but I had a little extra so maybe I thought we could use that to take Arthur to the vet. But then _surprise, motherfucker!_ The bills came and so did the monthly due of my brother’s tuition. The budget wasn’t enough if we were to have Artie checked up _now,_ but fortunately, I got some help.

            Earlier, I asked a favour from the tomato bastard to let me work as a part-timer in his family restaurant this weekend. Luckily, the Carriedo family needed someone to work for the morning shifts and I took the chance. It was convenient for me because I had evening shifts in the nightclub from 8 PM to 12 PM. Maybe I could also pull off an overtime and ask for my pay in advance so I could take the little shit to the vet and pay off my bills. The boss better give me what I fucking need.

* * *

 “Oi, stupid fratellino.” Lovino fastened the straps of his bag into a comfortable position and bobbed his head at the younger Italian. “You better take care of this asshole while I’m gone, okay?”

Feliciano’s shoulders were hunched and the odd curl that protruded from the rest of his hair was crooked. “Is… Is Artie going to be alright?” He sniffed, “Brother, I don’t know what to do if—“

Lovino cut off his little brother by firmly placing two hands on the other Italian’s shoulders and patting it in a reassuring manner. “Hey, hey. Everything is going to be alright.” He looked into the amber that glinted with worry and ruffled Feliciano’s hair. “I’ll be back in no time but until then you watch over Arthur so we can take him to the damn vet soon. I’ll just be out for three days.”

The younger Italian was suddenly overwhelmed with the feeling of complete uselessness. Here was his brother, working his ass off and probably skipping siestas just to be able to support him and what was Feliciano doing? Waving him goodbye? Goofing off? Everything he needed was just given to him and he didn’t even have to ask for it but at what cost?

“Fratello, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t do anything… I can’t even help you pay off my own tuition and I don’t have a job and…” Feliciano clenched his fists as tears began to prick his eyes.

Lovino lightly smacks Feliciano on the forehead. “This is why I call you stupid, Feli. I’m the damn older brother. This is my responsibility, not yours. Besides, you’re just a high school student, moron. You study hard to get a goddamn job so until then, leave it all to me, ‘kay”

“But–!”

“And if both of us works, then who’s gonna take care of that asshole?” The older Italian raised a brow at his brother. Before Feliciano could mutter another word about Arthur, Lovino checked his watch purposely, gave a quick peck on Feliciano’s cheek and headed to the door. “I gotta go. I’m running late.” 

Before Lovino could take a step out the door, he heard a loud and prolonged meow. Not long after, Arthur peered from his hiding spot.

_Leaving without my goodbyes?_

The older Italian turned on his heels and crouched over to where the cat was. He caressed Arthur’s ears and gave the feline a small smile that concealed pain. “I’ll be back, asshole. It’s not goodbye yet so you better be here when I return or I’ll kill you before whatever’s supposed to fucking kill you gets the chance.”

_I can say the same for you. Come home soon or you can bid your precious furniture farewell._

This time, _for real_ , Lovino strode out the door, the bags weighing him down. Or was it the fear and hidden anxiety? He gave one last glance at his brother and at a particular asshole, before waving them goodbye.

“Ciao, fratello. T-Take care, okay?”

“I will, I will, dammit.”

The last that Arthur saw of Lovino that day was his back as the Italian left home. The cat struggled to his feet to see the Italian leave all the way through but he couldn’t even make himself take a step.

* * *

 “ _Buenos días, señora._ What will you be having?” Lovino’s voice sounded flat rather than flattering. His eye twitched as he forced himself to smile. In fact, he was completely out of it, distracted by the thoughts Arthur back at home. Was he alright? Was he eating? Jesus Christ, maybe he shouldn’t have left after all and just spent the weekend with Artie. Then he mentally slapped himself. _No, I’m doing this for the bastard,_ he reminded himself.

The Spaniard wildly gestured to the Italian, catching his attention and dragging him back to reality. “No, no, Lovi! You have to be polite to the customers. Smile! _Sonrisa!”_ It’s been 15 minutes since Antonio has been teaching the ins and outs of his family’s restaurant and how greetings work around here, but somehow, Lovino butchers every response and reply. “You’ve got to feel what you’re saying, okay?”

“Well how do you expect me to take this fucking seriously when I’m calling you, a guy, _señora?_ ” The Italian crossed his arms, fuming. “And don’t call me Lovi, dammit!”

“I told you, this is just practice!”

“Practice my ass. You’re just fucking messing with me.” But Antonio was right. If he wanted to be paid properly, he should start taking his job more seriously. He’ll tolerate this idiot for the whole morning and work hard for Arthur and Feliciano.

It just so happened that one of their waiters was absent for an hour in the morning and they needed a hand in front. Lovino, who was supposedly a cook, was forced to take the job to help tend with the customers seeing that the place was full-packed and three waiters, including Antonio, could only do so much. Mr. Carriedo said that Lovino could shift back to being a cook when the actual waiter arrives and they would pay him handsomely if the job goes well (Or in Italian: _If he doesn’t fuck up_ ).

A family of four walked in and before Antonio could even blink, Lovino was already in his place. His previously dishevelled bowtie was smoothened, but his sleeves remained rolled-up in contrast to the usual look. Although, what surprised the Spaniard is that the scowl on Lovino’s face just _vanished_ and was replaced with a smile that felt so foreign. It just seemed odd to see a pleasant and relaxed look on the Italian where his frown should have been.

 _“¡Bienvenido!_ Welcome!” Lovino enthusiastically greeted and the family either gave him an appreciative smile or nod as he led them into an empty table. The Italian handed the menu to the customers and whipped out a small notebook, politely gesturing to the customers. “What will you be having for this fine morning?”

The father asked, “What are your specials for today?”

“Our Special is Calamares or Squid Rings that can either be steamed or fried. We also have the all-time favourite Paella: Paella Valenciana, Seafood Paella, and Mixed Paella. Lastly, the Pisto or the Spanish Ratatouille.”

The man nodded, taking into consideration the said dishes. He glanced at his copy of the menu and pointed at a particular food saying, “How long would it take for you to serve the Croquetas?”

“About 10 minutes, bast – señor.” Lovino bit his lip. _Force of habit._

The father glanced at his wife who nodded in agreement. “Okay, we’ll take that as well as 2 orders of Mixed Paella and Churros?” The man glimpsed at his children who vigorously bobbed their heads in excitement and he looked back at Lovino who jotted down the order. “Right. Churros con Chocolate. For the drinks, I think the lemon iced tea would do.”

“Will that be all, sir?”

“Yes, yes.”

Lovino repeated the order before he excused himself and tore the page off from the notebook, gliding to the counter to have the order hung. He carried his work quickly and almost flawlessly that it could put Blitzkrieg to shame. Antonio, on the other hand, was literally dropping his jaw at what he just witnessed. The Italian actually spoke _without_ saying a single curse or attempting to hurl a chair across the room.

Little did Antonio know that Lovino was particularly good in handling customers due to his nightshifts and the menu? The Italian had the specials written in that little notebook of his. Hah, he can’t possibly memorise all of those in the short time given. Not that he’d bother to anyway.

Lovino, who was now carrying a tray full of dishes for a different table, stopped by the Spaniard. “Oi, unless you plan on catching damn flies with that mouth of yours, keep it closed,” He whisper-yelled before turning his back on the other.

The Spaniard shook his head, snapping himself out of the daze and exclaimed, “Ay! Miracles do come true!”

“Bastard.” The Italian smacked Antonio’s forehead with his free hand, earning a surprised yelp from the latter.

An hour later, the anticipated waiter arrived, profusely apologising and Lovino was able to take his place in the kitchen, helping out the other cooks. The remaining hours ran smoothly and soon, Lovino’s shift ended.

Although, Antonio can’t help but feel that Lovino is intentionally busying himself by working nonstop. It was as if the Italian didn’t want to remember something. Could it be the same thing that was distracting him earlier? He noticed it somehow: the way the Italian would furrow his brows and shake his head as if dismissing a thought. Was Lovino alright?

* * *

  Arthur laid his head on Feliciano’s leg, weakly heaving his chest up and down as if breathing was the most difficult thing he’s done. The sight of the cat struggling pained Feliciano. The sad thing is that other pets would’ve been yelping, crying out in agony, or even moving around restlessly because of the discomfort, but here was Arthur, lying silently against Feliciano. It was as if the feline was keeping all the pain to himself. This was what’s hurting Feliciano.

Feliciano carefully stroked the Arthur’s fur, as if any rough movements would break the fragile breathing of the cat.

Soon, tears pricked the Italian’s eyes once again and hot tears fell on Arthur’s fur; tears that were laced with sorrow and regret. Even if Arthur was fully matured when he became a part of the family, the time he spent with the Vargas’ was too short. It was too little. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t… _fair._ Then, he realised that he wasn’t actually crying because it hurt him. Feliciano was crying for Arthur.

The Italian felt Arthur shift a little and began licking his hand carefully. Arthur’s tongue felt hot and rough in contrast to his soft and smooth fur. Feliciano’s eyes widened. Arthur rarely showed any form of affection. He’d usually ignore the younger Italian even if the boy would consistently fidget his tail.

The feline mewed once, as if saying, _Oh, Feli... Don’t cry now._

“Ah, _mi dispiace_ , Arthur.” Feliciano removed his hand from the feline and tried to wipe the tears away, but they just kept coming. The dull ache he desperately tried to push back gnawed at his chest. It hurt. _So bad._ He strained to bite back the sobs but they escaped his lips anyway like a broken discord. “I’m sorry, Art… I’m silly, aren’t I? I’m not the one who’s… who’s hurt yet I’m crying.” He paused, stifling his cries. “I’m trying but it just keeps – “

Arthur purred and nuzzled himself on Feliciano, attempting to comfort him.

_Shush, now. It’s alright… It’s alright._

The Italian couldn’t hold it in anymore; the dread, the anxiety, the harsh slap of reality on his face, reminding him how real this was. Finally, he burst into tears, pulling Arthur close to him. In between his horrible sobs, he muttered, “I – I don’t know what to do, Artie. I don’t want you gone. I don’t like seeing you like this. I’m _scared._ ”

_So am I._

* * *

  His morning shift back at the Carriedo’s was long over and now, Lovino was standing in the middle of bar continuously wiping the glasses as he waited for more customers to trickle in. The Italian’s evening shift was at a local nightclub, not far off from his friend’s restaurant but quite far from his own apartment. It’s still quite early but he knows that soon, it would be overcrowded with hormonal teenagers and the usual drunkards dancing to the club’s music.

“Tsk,” he scoffed to himself.

His fellow bartender raised a brow at his partner. “Well, this is a surprise. Don’t you usually leave the cleaning to me, Lovs?”

Lovino tossed his cocktail shaker at the other out of irritation and Alfred easily caught the metal container. By now, he’s gotten used to the pet name Alfred has given him, but the presence of the American never ceased to annoy him. “Freddy, I’m not as lazy as you think, dammit.”

“Damn, here we go again, man. I keep telling you that ‘Freddy’ sounds awful! You’re making me feel like an old geezer, Christ.”

A small smirk formed at the corner of the Italian’s lips. “Amen to that, my friend. Your name does sound fucking horrible it almost makes me wanna gag. ‘Alfred’, huh? Your parents must’ve been drunk when they thought of that dim-witted name of yours.”

Alfred shrugged. “Hey, it can’t be as worse as ‘Lovino’. Let’s be honest here, dude. That name sounds girly.”

“Tell me about it.” Lovino rolled his eyes.

The American snickered, gently placing the cocktail shaker on the counter before turning to his friend. “But seriously, what’s wrong, Lovs?”

“The usual shit, bastard.”

“Which one? Family? Bills? School or a girl?”

The Italian finally placed the glass aside and leaned on the counter, fidgeting with the towel. He cast a dejected look at nothing in particular and lowered his head. “It’s… “ Lovino debated whether or not he should tell Alfred. Was it worth it? Would it change anything? He’ll just probably be a burden to the American. The Italian sighed and he tried to mask his glum mood with boredom. “It’s nothing.”

* * *

 “Hey, Vargas. Can you whip up that awesome blue stuff for me and my friends?”

“Ah, you’re really making things difficult for me, aren’t cha?” Lovino served a customer his gin and tonic and turned to one of the familiar faces he always sees in this godforsaken nightclub. The music was so loud and Lovino had to yell, “Give me a second.”

The teenager nudged his friends, grinning. “Hey guys, you gotta see this.”

“Hey, Freddy! We have an AMF here.”

Alfred glanced back at Lovino and beamed. “Finally! I was getting bored just serving here.” He grabbed his cocktail shaker as his partner rolled his sleeves up. “Ready when you are, Lovs.”

Lovino nodded and the American grabbed one of the finest vodkas on the shelf and threw the bottle in the air towards his partner. The Italian causally caught the bottle with the metal container and quickly tossed the rum to Alfred who was spinning the cocktail shaker in his hand. In one fluid motion, Alfred caught the rum and both bartenders simultaneously poured the contents of the bottle into their metal containers. This earned a surprised cheer from the crowd who now flocked at the bar to watch the mini show.

“Nice catch, bastard.”

“You too, bud.”

Both men exchanged bottles by flipping them in the air and catching it with an extra cocktail shaker, something they’re both used to doing by now. Lovino jerks the extra shaker upwards, sending the bottle flying in the air once more, before stacking the shaker at the bottom of the other one. He catches the rum with ease and pours it in the container.

With nimble hands, the bartenders placed the bottle aside and grabbed a different alcohol: Alfred holding a tequila and Lovino holding the gin. After a couple more throws and impressive stunts, both the American and the Italian now has the attention of the entire nightclub. Nonetheless, they carried on with their work.

While pouring the last ingredient to the mix, Lovino shot Alfred a sceptical look. “Are we really going to do it?”

“Dude, we’ve been at it for nearly a year and you’re asking me _that_ now? You know the – “

“Yeah, yeah. Policy, I get it, dammit.”

After pouring the cocktail into multiple shot glasses, Lovino and Alfred struck a pose, still holding their shakers. “Adiós Motherfucker.”

And the crowd went wild.

Because of total embarrassment, Lovino excused himself out of the nightclub for a 10 minute break. He passed through the backdoor and checked his phone. _5 unread messages_. Unfortunately, three of those messages weren’t from Feliciano. He quickly chatted his brother.

* * *

**Lovino: Felo**

**Lovino: *Feli**

**Feliciano: Broooother! When’re you coming home? TT^TT Took you long enough to finally chat me**

**Lovino: Is everything alryt? Ders frozen pizza in the fridge btw**

**Lovino: Can’t chat 4 long. Just having a lil break.**

**Lovino: Hows the bastard doing?**

**Feliciano: Artie’s having a hard time…**

**Feliciano: I dunno what to do ;-;**

**Lovino: Wtf do you mean? Is sumthing wrong?**

**Feliciano: He’s still not getting better!**

**Feliciano: You told me to let him rest for a while and that everything would be fine**

**Feliciano: bUT NOTHINH is fine! He’s not eating much and he wouldn’t even drink watre anymore.**

**Feliciano: HE WOM’T EVEN EAT THE TUNA DISH WE USED TO MAKE FPR HIM. All he does is sleep all day!!!**

**Feliciano: What do I do?**

**_Lovino is typing…_ **

* * *

  The Italian stared at his phone for a moment, processing what his brother said. His finger lingered above the screen of his phone, unsure what to reply. Well, what could he say? He was no doctor, but he sure as hell can tell that Arthur was dying.

Lovino bit his lip, trying to supress the wretchedness he felt. His hand was turning white from gripping his phone too tight, but that did not justify what he truly felt. He knew and he felt that something was wrong ever since the morning and his guts didn’t betray him. Even he can’t deny what’s going on but still, there was time. There was still a chance and it’s not too late.

Furrowing his brows, the Italian finally thought of what to reply.

* * *

  **Lovino: Juz wait a bit longer. I’ll work things out.**

* * *

 The Italian wasted no time and as soon as his shift ended, he made his way to the office of the manager.

“What brings you here, Vargas?” The man puts aside the file he was reading and turned his attention to Lovino. The light from the screen of the computer gave the manager’s face an eerie glow and Lovino gulped.

The ambience of his boss’ office unsettled the Italian but that wouldn’t stop him from doing what he came for. Clearing his throat, he said, “Sir, I was hoping if I could get my pay in advance, if you don’t mind. Actually, tomorrow…”

“Ah, that,” The boss chuckled, his deep voice making the laugh sound more intimidating than intended. He propped his elbows on the table and clasped his hands together. “Might I ask why?”

“Something urgent came up.”

The manager nodded in consideration and grinned pleasantly at the Italian. “Well, give me a day to process it and you’ll get it tomorrow evening. Sounds good?”

“H-huh?” Lovino tried to blink back the surprised look on his face. He never thought it would be this easy.

The man quirked a brow at him, saying, “Is something wrong?”

“No, sir. _Damn,_ absolutely none at all!” Lovino’s shoulders eased and he can’t help but goofily grin back and take the hand of his boss, shaking it vigorously. “Thank you, sir. You don’t know how much this means to me.” Then the Italian realised how ridiculous and uncharacteristic he has been acting. He stopped himself before he could hug the manager and cleared his throat. “I mean… thank you, sir,” He repeated in a formal manner.

To his surprise, the manager simply laughed and shrugged it off. “Anything for my hardworking bartender.” Before Lovino could dismiss himself, the boss added, “By the way, you and Jones did a pretty good job out there.” He winked. “Keep up the good work, Vargas, and pass on that message to Al too, will you?”

The Italian flushed a deep red but nodded anyway. “Sure thing, boss.”

* * *

 Turns out, Lovino didn’t just do a good job at Carriedo’s place. He did an _excellent_ job that Antonio’s father wanted to make him a permanent staff member under conditions reasonable for a student like Lovino. How could the Italian refuse? Did he mention that he was also asked to return this afternoon for another shift?

Maybe God was indeed listening to his prayers. Lovino tried to suppress a smile as he rode the bus from his previous workplace to the Spaniard’s restaurant. Luckily, the bar has a small spare room where the staff could take turns getting a few winks of sleep and Lovino sure took his time dozing off in the last few hours. His exhaustion was temporarily forgotten as the thought of being able to go home to a cheerful brother and a healthy Arthur crossed his mind.

 _Anything for those little shits,_ he quietly thought.

He leant against the window, basking in the pleasant warmth from the sunlight that made its way through the transparent glass. Not long after, he fell into a deep sleep, fatigue taking over him. He no longer felt the aggressive buzzing and vibration of his phone. The cry of his phone to be picked up was left unnoticed. Although the call was persistent, it was still unanswered.

Soon, Lovino was at the restaurant, an unrestrained grin gracing his face. It was an unusual sight for Antonio and he would gladly welcome this refreshing and _rare_ mood of his friend anytime!

“ _Mi amigo_ , did something good happen today?” Antonio nudged the Italian and wagged his brows at the other. “Huh, huh?”

Lovino visibly grimaced. “Shut up, bastard.” Despite that, the corner of his lip was slightly upturned as if trying to hide his amusement. “Nothing happened.”

“Oh, c’mon, Lovi! I thought our relationship was beyond secrets,” came the dramatic reply of the Spaniard. He even placed both hands on his chest to express how hurt he is.

The Italian simply rolled his eyes and shoved Antonio away, proceeding to go to his station. As he walked away, he can hear the distinct laughter of a certain idiot behind him before Antonio was smacked at the back of his head by his father and ordered to get back to work.

_Serves him right._

* * *

 Right before Lovino knew it, it was already dark out and he was at the front door of their house with his bags over his shoulders, some takeout food for his brother and Arthur, and a good news to tell. He felt contented and boy, was Feli gonna love this!

The door was opened and what greeted the Italian was a shady hallway and a much too silent atmosphere that didn’t seem to welcome him. He shrugged it off, thinking his brother must’ve gone to bed already. After all, Feliciano must’ve been tired too. He smiled at the thought of his little brother stressing over school and tending to Arthur.

“Fratellino, I’m home!”

There was no reply. _Or at least that’s what he thought._

He heard a faint sob coming from the living room. Curious, he made his way to the source of the sound, saying, “Feli?”

In that moment, Lovino freezes. He sees his little brother on the couch, hugging his knees close to his chest crying softly with a hoarse voice. Oh no, but _that_ wasn’t what made him freeze. It was Arthur. The Italian’s bags were dropped in an instant and he stood there, motionless.

Arthur laid on the floor, unmoving. God, that wasn’t the worse part. His eyes were open but unseeing and he was looking at the door, probably waiting for Lovino to come home, but of course, Lovino didn’t. His eyes looked so alive; it was almost as if he was still there and not just some stiff corpse blankly looking at the open air in front of him. His mouth was slightly open, as if mewing or taking in his last breath. But… why wasn’t he alive? Why wasn’t Arthur at least trying to get up, welcome Lovino home? Why didn’t he wait for Lovino to return?

The Italian broke down, a strangled cry escaping his lips. Maybe… Maybe Arthur was just breathing shallowly and that Lovino was just too blind to notice, but he knew better.  The Italian fell on his knees. Silent yet pained sobs tried to voice his grief, but it just didn’t seem enough. It was too sudden.

_Why didn’t he wait for me to fucking come back? Why… didn’t he give me a chance to say goodbye?_

The unsaid words were hanging onto his lips and were expressed in strangled cries as he wailed with his brother. It just wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

He wasn’t there for Arthur. While he was stupidly getting giddy over an advance pay, Arthur was dying. He wasn’t by Arthur’s side even if that asshole has always been on his and that _THAT_  wasn’t fair. He worked so hard. If Arthur waited just a little bit more or maybe if he could’ve just gone home a little bit earlier, maybe things would’ve been different. Maybe.

That night, nobody touched Arthur’s body. That night, both Feliciano and Lovino cried themselves to sleep. That night was a _nightmare_.

* * *

  _A few weeks later…_

“Lovi – “

“I said I fucking heard you, Tonio!”

Antonio clamped a hand over the Italian’s mouth before he could muster more ungodly words that’ll most likely get them in trouble. He sighed, feeling hopeless and decided to lean closer to Lovino, whispering, “ _Mi amigo_ , can we talk outside for a moment?” His grip on the Italian’s arm suggests that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Lovino simply shot him a glare but, nevertheless, complied.

The Spaniard led them outside through the front door and finally loosened his hold on the other. “Wanna tell me what this is all about?”

“Tsk.”

“Lovi, please. I won’t know what’s bothering you unless you tell me.” Antonio noticed the sudden stiffness of the Italian and rubbed his temples in confusion. “ _Lo siento,_ but I can’t read minds.”

Lovino shot Antonio a nasty look but immediately tried to blink back the evident frustration and anger growing on his face. “It’s nothing, bastard.” He tried to push past the Spaniard but the other didn’t budge, and instead, placed a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s obviously _not_ nothing. C’mon Lovi, you’re better than this.”

“Oh, so now you’re a preacher? Whoop-de-fucking-doo. Can this day get any better?” The Italian practically growled back and shrugged the hand off of his shoulder but Antonio chose to remain silent.

Lovino scoffed, “Oh that’s right. It can’t because life is already at its finest! And what’s wrong? _What’s wrong?_ Bullshit. More like _what’s right._ I’m already doing everything I can. _Everything._ But still, nothing worked out.” The Italian threw his hands up and turned his back on the other. “It’s… It’s… Fuck,” Lovino trailed off, pinching the bridge of his nose as if the action would suppress the evident frustration he felt.

The Italian stomped his way into the restaurant again but this time, Antonio pulled him back, pleading. “Lovi,” He started as he made the other face him but what the Spaniard saw made him freeze.

 _“What?”_ Lovino’s voice cracked.

Tears were threatening to spill from the Italian’s eyes and the frown he wore showed how much he was restraining himself. His pursed lips quivered and his hands were clenched. The greens of his eyes glinted with pain instead of showing anger like during his outburst moments ago. He looked _lost_ more than anything else.

The Spaniard enveloped Lovino in hug, squeezing him. Suddenly, the Italian found the tears he was trying so hard not to show, stream down his face. He tried _so hard_ to be strong, to be tough, to be the one his brother could depend on but it was so difficult to keep pretending.

No matter how hard he tried to mask the pain, it never went away. Yes, days and weeks may have passed since _he_ left, but why hasn’t the pain dulled? Why wouldn’t the horrible throb in his chest go away? He wasn’t foreign to the concept of death. He was there at his parents’ funeral; he was by his grampa’s hospital bed when he, too, passed away. He thought he’d be numb to it by now, but the truth is, it never hurts less than the first time. In fact, it hurt more every single time he encountered death.

“Lo siento, Lovino… Lo siento.” Antonio patted his back, trying to comfort him. Why was this bastard apologising anyway?

Lovino did not move and simply hung his head at the Spaniard’s shoulder, sobbing. The voice and the presence of his friend soothed him somehow and he allowed himself to stay like that for a few minutes. Soon, he pulled away.

After a while, Lovino rubbed his stained cheeks with the sleeves of his uniform and walked past Antonio, brushing him off. For a moment, the Spaniard thought that Lovino was going to pretend that nothing happened, but he found the Italian abruptly stopping, muttering a soft yet anguished, “Thanks, Tonio.” Then, he was gone.

* * *

 Dear Diary,

            It’s been fucking two months and I still mi—

* * *

 The ballpen fell from Lovino’s grasp as he stared mindlessly at the notebook. He just sat there as an overwhelming ache in his chest numbed him. The pen rolled off the desk and the Italian clenched his fists. Tears stained the notebook instead of ink, but it spoke louder than any word he’s written on the aged notebook. Still, it wasn’t enough. It was _never_ enough.

Lovino found himself unable to continue writing which was ironic. Months ago, he could go on and on for pages, ranting about his brother, Arthur, his job, or even his damn university and now? He can barely lift the pen.

The Italian just sat there, silent tears rolling down his cheeks. No more anguished cries or horrible sobs. It was all just… too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnnd that’s a wrap! Here’s the official Mission #3! Worry not, tho, for I shall move the poems in the next chapter and fix the screwed up spacing with the power of shift + enter! (Also because I need more angsty Gerita even if it’s just poems xD)
> 
> What do you guys think? How was this longass piece of work? I know it’s not much it I poured my heart and soul into it. This story was a way for me to vent a thing that happened a while back and somehow, help me cope.
> 
> Okay, okay. So I’d like to give my love and thanks to the Guest (Sorry I don’t know what to call you, but you’re awesome xD), Quizicalcoatl, and Eternal Night Owl. You guys have encouraged me and supported me when I was at the edge and gave me the power to stand up again and go on. You gave me light when I was blinded by darkness and helped me see again so thank you. Thank you so much. You guys are the best!
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to my asshole – my loving yet asshole of a dog who passed away around July 22 – 23, 2017 while I was out of town in a school-related contest. I love you, Dong. You mean so much to me and I hope you’re doing well up there. 
> 
> During his death, I felt like absolute crap and I constantly busied myself just so I wouldn’t think much about it. I focused on my tests, projects, and that time, it was really difficult because none of my friends knew. I didn’t have the heart to tell them or the need to because… why? They have enough problems and stacking mine up wouldn’t change anything so I distracted myself for weeks and cried myself to sleep every night. Like Lovino in this chapter, I tried to stay strong, but really, I was just afraid of accepting the truth. Soon, I was able to vent it out to a dear friend and it felt good. I’m grateful for that person as well.
> 
> It was also difficult because my dog used to sleep by my feet too (Just like Arthur with Lovino xD) even if the bed was for one person only and he took up ½ of the space because like I said, he was an asshole, lmao. But really, he was amazing and he can be adorable if he wants too. It was just hard to lay in a bed that was once too small and is now too wide and to have nights where he suddenly crosses my mind and I end up crying again even if a few months have passed. Y’know what made it worse? The fact that I didn’t know that the goodbye I told him three days before I left would be the last and… I’m sorry. Still hurts. Well, let’s just say I moulded this story around my dog. Not exactly, but yeah. The way he faced the door… eyes open… and damn. This is getting sad, huh?
> 
> I just wish I was there by his side. But hey, I guess God just had plans and a pretty good reason. Maybe so I could appreciate what I have and to treasure loved ones more. Maybe so that I could be a kinder person and remember to cherish the little things in life. 
> 
> Rest In Peace, Asshole. Love ya, so much.
> 
> Thank you for reading, mates!


	4. Mission 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Before you all move on to the next mission, I have an announcement. YEP, I ALREADY UPDATED MISSION 3 SO IT'S A STORY PIECE NOW.
> 
> The poems have been moved to Mission 4 (yeah, the current mission) and while I was gone, I tweaked it up and made it into a Poem Trilogy because I never actually stopped writing xD That would kill me inside. Another thing: this is my tribute to HetaOni.
> 
> Okay, you may now proceed.

Mission: Germany x Italy

* * *

**The Last Moments**

This isn't the way I wanted to hold you:  
Cold and dying; a cruel fate planned for us two  
Here I am, trying to keep your eyes open  
And you, fighting against the path that's woven

Your eyelids dropped and you grew weary  
I stared in horror at the right before me  
You struggled to breathe as you clutched your chest  
Tears spilt out from your eyes in protest

I drew a sharp breath as you began to waver  
Angry, I yelled, "You said we'd get through this together!"  
"Hey, hey… Everything's gonna be okay."  
Lies, that's what it was, I wanted to say

Your lively voice was reduced to a mere whisper  
Because of that, I can't help but whimper  
You tried to smile as your lips trembled  
Behind your eyes, your life slowly crumbled

I watched as the light began to flicker;  
Did nothing as you grew weaker and weaker  
I pulled you close to me, desperate to make you stay  
Though I held your hand tightly, you still slipped away

Deafening silence is what followed after  
I no longer heard your voice or you silly laughter  
Your eyes were open but unseeing  
I never thought that you'd end up _leaving_

I screamed your name but there was no reply  
You didn't give me a chance to say goodbye  
I shook your body but it remained lifeless  
Still, I tried to wake you despite knowing it was hopeless

"Please, don't leave me. I don't want to be alone  
I... I can't handle this on my own."  
I wept on your shoulder in despair  
Fully aware that you're no longer there

* * *

**The Aftermath**

This heart of mine can't seem to move on  
Still, it's waiting for someone that's already gone;  
Longing for something that's no longer here;  
Aching for what has long disappeared

I'm trapped in the past of what used to be;  
A blurry memory of you and me,  
A repetitive melody played in rewind,  
Your sweet singing voice fading in my mind

I'm drowning in the words you used to say  
"Hey, hey… Everything's gonna be okay."  
I want to believe that that was true  
But how could I when I've lost you?

I'm numb with pain, grief, and despair  
Whatever happens next, I no longer care  
For when your hand went limp, my world ended  
When your eyes closed, your date was decided

* * *

**The Visit**

Whisper the words I want to hear  
Entangle our hands, nibble my ear  
Say my name like a worship, kiss my neck by surprise  
Cup my cheek, pull me close, look at me in the eye

Trace my lips, ever softly, with a finger  
I feel your breath warming me as you linger  
Brush the hair away from my face and smile  
Peck my forehead and say, "It has been a while."

Squeeze my hand, let me know that you're really here  
Don't let go, hold on tight, it's beginning to blear  
What is this? Why's my face sleek with tears?  
"I'm sorry, but this is goodbye, I fear."

I shot up from bed with you no longer by my side  
Touching my wet cheeks, I realized I cried  
Once again, I was hit by the reality of your death  
Still couldn't quite accept that you've taken your last breath


End file.
